Lady Blue Eyes_ My Life With Frank - Barbara Sinatra [112]
“Not me, buster. I can’t do it any better than I just did. That’s your show.”
George always said that what Frank really demanded was only the respect that artists like him should be accorded. He believed that was the way it ought to work, and his attitude was learn your words, know your mark, and be professional. Then we can all go home. Unfortunately, that made him a hard act to book, and in the end I think he may have toughed himself out of the business. He’d always wanted to play something that really stretched him, as he had in The Man with the Golden Arm (the film of which he was most proud) as well as with his Oscar-winning performance in From Here to Eternity, but the scripts stopped coming and he was never again offered those kinds of roles.
One part he would have really liked was that taken by Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rain Man with Tom Cruise. Frank had been talking about playing that sort of character for years, and when he heard of that movie he longed to be the autistic genius that Dustin made his own. If a great part like that had come along—especially if Scorsese had offered it—Frank would have dropped everything to do it. Now Scorsese is said to be making a film of Frank’s life, which is kind of ironic. I like Marty, and I trust him to do the right thing.
Even though Frank was busy making his movie in New York, he still needed to know that I was safe and being taken good care of at all times. Ever since his son had been kidnapped, he was paranoid about the security of those he loved. What he didn’t want was for me to put myself in any kind of risky situation, but what Frank wanted and what I wanted weren’t always the same thing.
The World Mercy charity for the poor in West Africa was something we both supported enthusiastically. Frank had narrated a documentary about its work, and I had organized a benefit in New York at which Julio Iglesias performed. I’d always liked Julio’s voice and had never met him, but I made contact and asked him if he would help us out. Fortunately, he jumped at the chance, hoping to meet his hero Frank, and I think he must have been very disappointed when he discovered that Frank wasn’t in town. Still, we became friends and I was able to return his favor years later when he wanted to perform on one of Frank’s Duets albums but his agent said he couldn’t make it happen. Julio called and asked me to help, and through pillow talk, I persuaded Frank that it was a good idea—and it was. A few years later, when Julio left his agent for another, the original agent reportedly protested, “But I got you on that Sinatra record!” to which Julio told me he’d replied, “No, you did not. That was Barbara Sinatra!”
The head of the World Mercy charity in America was Father Rooney. He’d been a friend to us both for a long time, ever since we’d met him at one of our parties in New York. A charismatic missionary, he was a very easy man to like. When he asked me if I would like to go to Africa with him to see where our money was being spent, I agreed immediately. Frank thought I was crazy. He didn’t want me gallivanting off at all, but I was determined to go. Hoping there might be safety in numbers, I asked Bee Korshak and my friend Suzy Johnson if they’d go with me, and they both said yes. I knew Suzy from my modeling days, and when she moved to Palm Springs and her marriage broke up, I helped set her up in the best resale shop I know. So the three of us got our shots for yellow fever and a whole host of other unpalatable diseases and set off.
I packed a few clothes, some peanut butter, some cans of pork and beans, and a large bottle of vodka. Then we flew to Dakar in Senegal. On our first night we stayed in a nunnery where we were offered a meager dinner and then went to bed. The next morning my vodka was gone, so I guess the nuns were planning on having a good time. I went to my girlfriends’ rooms to see if they were ready for our first day in the bush, and they had me in hysterics. They were rifling through their designer outfits for what they’d